


Hetalian High

by ThatTurquoiseGirl (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Romance, highschool, not an au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-09-19 16:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9450371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ThatTurquoiseGirl
Summary: NOT AN AU! Trying to prove America wrong, Britain accidentally turns all the countries into 15 year olds. If that wasn't bad enough, he's sure that he can't turn them back for at least six months. The worst, though, is that their bosses decided the best would be for them to attend high school till England finds a way to turn them all back. What will happen? Prucan, USUK, GerIta and many more!





	1. Introduction

America sipped some rum. He would never admit it to England, but rum was actually pretty good. Not as good as, fore say, a nice hamburger, but alcohol had its own perks.

Doing the same activity as him sat England, to his right, head hung low. This would've been strange had it been anyone else, considering the said Britisher had drunk much less than him--England had yet to finish his second glass, while he was on his forth--but as widely known, he absolutely _sucked_ at drinking. Ironic for such an alcohol-loving country.

"France is such a-hic-wanker. Do you have any idea what he did today?" He said, his break from nonsensical rambling ending, possibly because his mouth wasn't filled with rum any more.

Relatively sober, America rolled his eyes. He couldn't remember a day when France _hadn't_ done something, excluding the days related to wars. 

"Let me think. Try to assault you?"

England nodded vigorously. "Yeah! How'd-hic-you guess, America? Oh, never-hic-mind. Well, you see-hic-, we were sitting at this-hic-meeting and..."

The two of them were sitting in The Blue Dragonfly, Eastern Manchester. The medium-sized pub had nothing blue, but oaken furniture and wooden furnishings. A large plasma TV was placed directly in front of the serving table, seeming out of place amongst the vintage style. It was a decent place, and the quietness was soothing at the end of a long day. 

It was a warm summer's evening, and America had came over for some reason he really couldn't recall, which indicated its unimportance. Then, somehow, they'd reached the topic of drinking, and had decided to go out for a drink. Again, America had already forgotten how, although that might've just been due to the intoxication.

The bar itself was very quiet, America and Britain being the only two customers present. The bartender, a clean, shaven man in his early fifties, stood a little distance away. He was polishing a glass cup meticulously and occasionally turning an eye towards the two rowdy customers.

Stopping his rant on why France was an idiotic moron, England turned 180 degrees and took his pinky out. The motion was so abrupt that it caught America's attention.

"Oh! Hello-hic-Tinkerbell! What are you doing here, old girl?"

America curiously bent backwards for a better look, trying to spot the little fairy that was supposedly there.

As he had expected, England was talking to thin air. At least that was what he saw.

He snatched the glass from England's hand. England turned towards him confusedly.

"Alright Artie, that's enough rum for today. You've definitely lost it, and I'm not going to carry you back, dude." He said, taking a sip himself.

England twitched.

"Idiot!-Hic-You think that Tinkerbell isn't actually here, don't you?" He asked accusingly.

"Yup, pretty much."

England attempted to reclaim his cup. His movements uncoordinated and sloppy, America easily pushed him back and put the glass out of his reach.

"You don't think I have magic either, do you?" He asked, even more accusingly.

"Correct answer!"

"Well, I-hic-do!"

"Oh yeah? Prove it." He challenged. He wasn't expecting England to actually do anything.

"Fine. I'll, uh-hic-...turn you into a teenager!"

Remaining unimpressed, America replied, "Sure dude."

England 'took' out a yellowed and dog eared scroll. America wondered where he had hidden it. (Actually, he had summoned it, but America didn't notice that.)

"Oh black...blood...moron...blue...wanker..." America managed to hear only a few of the words he said, for he mumbled it beneath his breath.

A minute later, England finished it off with a wave of his hand, and said, "Teenager!"

Bright white light engulfed a surprised America, much unexpected, and captured his consciousness like a mouse beneath a cat's paw.

A moment later, he and the being beside him were teleported away.

America groaned as he opened his eyes. His head hurt like hell, and he didn't remember anything, apart from some hazy visions of a bar. He guessed that it was a hangover.

Unfortunately, it was much worse than that.

"What the hell!


	2. Chapter 2

America POV

America lazily opened his eyes. The visually appeasing sight of the sky above him was the first thing he registered; candy floss clouds drifting across the blue background, like lorries and monster trucks on an air-road. It was nice, just lying around like that and—   
  
"What the hell,” he yelled, memories flooding back to him, jerking his head upwards.   
  
The second he moved, unbearable pain pulsated through his body, and black spots danced in front of his eyes. He reflexively squeezed his eyes shut and groaned loudly, his head falling back and hitting the rock-hard ground. More pain spread through his cranium.

It took him a few moments to open his eyes again—he didn't even consider moving, with his limbs stinging like a jellyfish had wrapped around them. His head throbbed like  _ crazy _ , as if somebody had taken a chainsaw and began cutting through his skull.

He simply lay like that for some more time, wondering what to do. He couldn’t stay like that forever, though. Against the protests of his body, he heaved myself up, taking a few deep breaths after the effort. I had felt better even after  _ Independence _ , which said a lot.

To his surprise, he wasn’t alone. Many of the other countries were lying on the ground, just like he had been, seeming—and hopefully—asleep. He could pick out France, Romano, Spain, and a few others, the rest being bodies lying face-down.   
  
He jerked his head to the left, hearing a groan. He winced and grabbed his head as the chainsaw maniac—maybe Russia—returned.

"America?" Said somebody, who he could easily identify as Canada. It was a miracle he could hear him at all, his voice barely audible. 

“Canada! Are you alright?” He had managed to get up, like him, but there was a huge change in his appearance; he was about 6 years younger than he was supposed to be. “Man, what the heck happened to you?”

“That's what I wanted to ask,” He said, pitch rising. A cold feeling settled over his gut.

“I’m a teen, aren't I?”

“...Does that mean I'm a teen as well?”

He nodded with the utmost severity. Unusual for him.

“But that makes no sense!”

“What're you asking me for? Ask…” he racked his mind for any memory concerning whose fault it was. Who had he been drinking with again? It was that guy's fault, right? Something to do with a bet? “England! England did this,” he yelled, satisfied.

On cue, another head rose, accompanied with grumbling.

“Bloody hell…”

“England,” he shouted, “What the heck did you do to everyone? And what’s with your hair, dude?” he said, turning his way and noticing his bright green and purple hair, and shining ear piercings. Was  _ that  _ how he looked when he was younger?

“Me?” The pain was visible on his now younger face, but he still managed to sound incredulous. “Oh, that's just  _ brilliant _ . Put the blame on the first guy you…” he stopped mid-sentence, and gasped. “The bloody spell rebounded!”

Spell?

“Wait a moment,” said Canada, a little louder than before, “what about everybody else? What if they aren't…”

England paled drastically, not letting him finish, “Wh-what? Don't be silly now! They'll be up in no time,” He exclaimed.

“And if they aren’t?” He couldn't find the right words for a reply.

“Ah, my head…”

He sighed in relief as France joined their little awakey group. “See? If that wanker can be up, everybody else will be as well!”

France was half-dazed, eyes half open, but cracked up on spotting the spiky hairstyle Britain sported.

“Hon hon hon, Angleterre. Feeling young, are you?”

He scrunched his eyebrows confusedly. “What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean, France?” 

France slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans, and took out a shining mirror. America wondered why he even had a mirror in the first place.

Britain gasped dramatically the moment he saw his reflection, “My hair...What happened to my hair?”

“Feeling that the punk revolution has returned, Mon Ami?”

He turned bright red. “Do you have a problem with that, frog?"

America snorted and said, “And you call me a punk.”

Canada cleared his throat. “Could we please return to the issue, guys?”

“No need,” France said, gesturing to the fifth country to awake. America understood what he meant, on seeing the look on Germany’s face.

“WHO THE HELL’S FAULT IS THIS!”

* * *

 

In about half an hour, everybody was up and awake. Some more awake than others, but on the whole, conscious. Nobody seemed to have any visible injuries, but all were ailing of fatigue, headaches and body pain.

The only people who had been able to muster enough strength to get up were America, Germany, England, Norway and Sweden. He had been the first, and then promptly fell upon Japan, who had somehow been right beside him. Japan wasn't too angry, although he was about to take out one of those Japanese swords. (Seriously, where did these guys put all that stuff?)

It was hard to explain what had happened, but cleverly, England had deduced that his ‘spell’ had rebounded, affected all the countries and mortal-ized us as teenagers.

America didn't believe the magic crap one bit.

“England, please repeat how this happened.” Germany asked, confirming he wasn't the only one unbelieving of his reasoning.

“For the  _ third  _ time, America and I were out drinking, and—”

Norway turned steely eyes towards him, probably unhappy with the change, “And  _ why _ you were doing magic whilst drunk?”

“I was drunk, that’s why I was doing magic,” He exclaimed defensively.

“What’s the difference,” I asked.

“The difference is that—oh, nobody bloody cares what the difference is, so just shut up!”

“Ja, boss? It is I, Germany, speaking,” An uncanny silence fell upon the area. Germany was the only one to have successfully managed to phone for help. None of the others even had a cellphone. Germany had, actually, ‘borrowed’ Italy's mobile phone, for the Italian wasn't getting much work done on it. “We are in a bit of mess. Yes, this is more important than your dinner. What—no, this has nothing to do with—oh, nevermind, England somehow managed to turn most of the countries, along with me, into teenagers. No, I am not joking. We are in Florida, the United States of America. Help would be appreciated. Thank you.”

“Is your boss coming then Germany,” Canada asked, hopefully.

Germany nodded, “Yes, Canada. He should be here with aid in a few hours,”

“Yay! We're saved! Thank you Germany, thank you so much!” Germany sighed as Italy bounced around like a happy puppy.

* * *

 

  
In about fifteen minutes, America's boss had arrived. Germany's boss had informed him about the whole situation, and, luckily being nearby for a meeting, he had arrived to help them in half an hour.   
  
They had been discussing matters for a while, with discussing in this context meaning trying to discuss and ending up fighting. Germany had been the only one who had got any discussing really done.   
  
America hadn't caught much of the conversation, busy talking to England over the reality of magic. (Canada insisted it was squabbling, but they disagreed. They hadn't broken stuff or anything.)   
  
"What is that supposed to mean?" Exclaimed Switzerland, visibly surprised. 

  
This managed to catch his attention and turning to Germany, who was just as shocked, asked,  "What's wrong, dude?"   
  
"Your boss thinks it will be best if we attend high school till England can find a way to revert us back."   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gazillion thanks to all those who reviews, bookmarked and left kudis—soory to keep you all readers waiting! I know, terrible chapter, but I've been really busy lately. Sorry for the wait, I’ll try to update faster! 
> 
> Please comment!

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments, guys? Please review!!


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